


Make way for the Queen

by glanmire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Chess, Gen, Road-trip, recruiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their recruiting trip, Erik and Charles' chess board is stolen by a kleptomaniac mutant, but Erik has a plan to get his hands on one, for the night at least.</p><p>or, That one time Erik and Charles were not half as good at chess as they thought they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make way for the Queen

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted someone to be the receptionist, and somehow it ended up being Zoe Washburne from Firefly. Sorry if I mangled both her character and her timeline, but she was perfect. Just think about Gina Torres instead if you can't bear it.

The woman behind the counter smirked at Erik when he asked for a chess board. Admittedly it was very unlikely that they would have a chess board, but it wasn't his fault that he and Charles were now bereft of one. Erik _had_ tried his damnedest to get it back, but the last kleptomaniac mutant that they’d valiantly tried to recruit had been able to phase a few feet forward and back at a time. In hindsight, perhaps Erik shouldn't have tried to rugby-tackle a kid who could disappear like that, but he had truly liked that chessboard - and he had liked his wallet even more. His shoulder still ached in a distant way, like the hum of a radio in the background. He’d slammed into the gravel and the kid had laughed, six feet away. Charles had tried his best not to laugh too. Erik had appreciated the effort.  

 “Surely even a place like this has a chessboard somewhere,” he said to the receptionist, attempting a charming smile. Right now Charles was having one of his ridiculously long and painfully hot showers, but Erik didn’t like to consider how they would spend the next couple of hours if they didn't have a game of chess. Charles would probably seize the opportunity to _talk_ , about their histories and feelings and hopes and aspirations…  
Erik was aware of the cutting tone to his musings and stopped himself. Charles did not deserve to be mocked for the small flaw of being friendly. 

 "Please?" he asked the receptionist, resting his hands on the counter top. Erik wasn’t a machine after all. Sometimes he’d had to resort to flirting to get his way over his long and brutal history. It was cleaner than killing the people who were in the way, although Erik was often more comfortable with the violence than the being kind and witty and pretty. That was Charles’ forte. 

Erik surveyed the receptionist. She was black, with a bunch of curls tied back at the nape of her neck and large lips that did not smile back at him. Even with his morals, attempting to kill her just for a chess board did seem a tad unreasonable. He tried smiling again.   
“See the thing is, Mr-” she said, and paused.   
Erik fumbled on an appropriate alias for a second. It was pure habit, but he didn’t like leaving his real name scattered all over the world like the proverbial breadcrumb trail.    
“McCoy,” he said a second too late, but it was the only godforsaken name he could think of. “Hank McCoy.”  
He was highly aware that Hank McCoy was not a very European name, and distinctly not-German at all, but she let it pass. He supposed that motel receptionists were probably used to people lying about their names. 

“See Mr McCoy, I do happen to have a chessboard right here. Thing is, if you want to borrow it for the night, you'll have to beat me at a game first.”   
Erik smiled, more naturally this time. He liked women like this.   
“Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?” he asked, honing in on the challenge like a sniper with a target, now that the goal was in sight. Really, how good could she be anyway? He’d have the board before Charles finished his shower.   
“Zoe Washburne,” she said, almost proudly.   
“Let's take a seat then, shall we Zoe?” He gestured to the plastic tables and chairs that littered the reception.   
“Let’s,” she replied simply.  

 

The board that Zoe took out was wooden, not his preference, but then again it wouldn't do to be flaunting his powers to this stranger. They played with cream and brown pieces that were like shades of coffee, instead of the usual black and white ones that him and Charles had had.   
Erik ran a finger lightly over the board. Names and initials had been sliced into each square, carved in at blade-point most likely.  
“I make ‘em sign it when I beat them,” Zoe explained before he could ask. 

The board was nearly as scarred as him, hundreds of names embedded in the wood, the texture interesting to touch. It was appealing in its own right, unlike his own scars. The losers weren’t the ones who slashed at him, Erik had found. It had been the ones he’d been unable to beat who had done this to him, but at least no-one had carved their name into his body as of yet. 

 

Charles came jogging down into reception twenty minutes later, a slight look of worry on his face. _HANK HANK HANK_ Erik shouted inside his head, remembering his new false name just in time.    
“Has anyone seen my... Hank?” Charles asked aloud, sounding baffled, and then turned to where Erik and Zoe were sitting. “Ah, there you are erm, Hank, I was wondering where you'd got to.”   
Zoe arched an eyebrow but did not comment on this development.    
“I'm trying to win us a chessboard for tonight Charles,” Erik explained quickly. He didn’t feel so bad about saying Charles’ real name. Charles’ greatest joy in life was telling strangers who he was. _Stop_ , he chastened himself, before he let himself start mentally criticising a telepath.   


“Fantastic,” Charles was saying, and then he was pulling up a chair and watching their game, an expression on his face much like a proud father at his son’s baseball match - or like a cheerleader at the sidelines for that matter.    
 _If you start mentally cheering me on and telling me that ‘I can do it’, I may hit you,_ he directed towards Charles.   
 _That would be a lie anyway, my friend. I'm not sure if you have this one under control. Zoe seems to be quite skilled.  
_ _You’re not a very good cheerleader_ , Erik thought, and then tried to refrain from imagining Charles in an American-style cheerleader get-up, blue pompoms to match his eyes- _stop._

 Zoe leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she did, her brown eyes watching them both. She wore knee-high boots and Erik was distracted momentarily, both because of those legs, her general air of nonchalance, and the fact that she was winning.    
“Ever find it interesting how all the pieces are male, save the Queen?” she said casually, seemingly only barely paying attention to the game, though that couldn’t be right.   
“What does it matter if you’re alone when you're the strongest piece on the board?” Erik retorted. This conversation was closely echoing his own personal philosophy and he sensed Charles stiffen beside him. They had had this argument many times. He was almost afraid that Charles would say something ridiculously embarrassing like, _you don’t have to be alone anymore Erik._

“Er-Hank, that is to say, Hank, I think you're forgetting the adage, 'strength in numbers.' And Zoe, I will have to ask you to defend that hypothesis of yours,” Charles said instead, his academic side peeking out as it always did eventually.   
Zoe glanced over at Charles, casually taking one of Erik's rooks as she did. “I don't recall telling you my name.”   
Charles for once had the decency to blush. For a telepath, he was a terrible liar - though Erik didn’t know why he ever thought that knowing the truth should make anyone good at lying.  
“Ah, yes, I must've have heard it on the way in or, erm,” Charles gestured wildly - _such_ a terrible improviser- “What about pawns then?” he said abruptly, changing the subject, “Can’t some of them be female?” 

Zoe looked at him cooly. “When was chess invented? Do you think they had women in the front lines all those thousands of years ago?”    
“Certain cultures…” Charles managed, waving his hand vaguely. Erik looked away from Charles - in the weeks that Erik had known him he had never seen his friend’s knowledge fail him to this extent -and tried to focus on the game. He moved a bishop warily. He really should have been helping Charles out, but it was too funny to see Mr Oxford-educated himself floundering like this. Erik said quietly, “Women can't be bishops either.”  
Charles looked at him, his brilliant blue eyes showing hurt, as if to say _Betrayal! My good lad, why must you hurt me so?  
_ Erik had a habit of imagining Charles’ voice as markedly more English and pompous that it really was- not that he imagined Charles’ voice a lot, not at all. 

 “Perhaps not in catholic Ireland, Hank,” Charles continued after a moment, and for a wild second Erik forgot he was Hank and thought Charles had truly lost it- “but they're currently debating that in-”   
“Ever heard of a woman knight?” Zoe cut across, a look of almost boredom on her face.   
“No, not exactly, but wait, what about the rook? You can’t assign a gender to a castle, surely?” Charles said, sounding hopeful.   
“Exactly. That's hardly helpful. Just cause they ain’t male don’t mean that that helps women. There's plenty of chairs and tables in Congress, but I don’t hear them fighting for equal pay.”  


Charles seemed to be lost for words. Erik tried to wrangle control of the chess match back from Zoe, but anything he attempted was swiftly and surely cut down and pushed back.   
"Where did you learn to play like this?" he found himself asking, and he wasn’t sure which match he was referring to, the physical game or the verbal spar.  
“I've travelled,” Zoe said vaguely.   
 _Mutation?_ he asked Charles mentally.   
 _None,_ Charles said, the thought coming to Erik more sluggishly than usual, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself.   
 _Maybe you could give us a hand here Charles? There’s a chess board at stake.  
_ _We're not cheating. She has you beaten.  
_ _It's not cheating per say, it's just a helpful advantage-  
_ _No Erik._

“Fine,” Erik said, and then realised he was responding to something that no one had said out loud.   
Zoe smiled. She truly did have an astonishing smile. “That's checkmate I'd say.”  
“Yes it is,” Charles added unhelpfully.   
Erik pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, trying not to get irrationally angry over losing a game of chess.   
 _Didn't know you carried one of those_ Charles remarked, sounding surprised.   
 _Thought you knew said you knew everything about me_ Erik shot back.   
He scrawled _Erik Lehnsherr_ onto the board before he remembered that he was supposed to be Hank. He could feel Charles’ beside him, struggling not to laugh at him. He sent a violent image to Charles.   
 _I’m sorry Erik, truly I am, but who’s bad at lying now?  
_ _Shut up_ he thought back eloquently. 

 “Well, I guess that’s it fellas. Good attempt though, Mr McCoy,” Zoe said the name with a smile, as if everyone present had decided an alias was a terrible idea.   
“Hold on just a moment Zoe. Don’t I deserve the chance to fight for the chess board?” Charles asked.  
Zoe appraised him. “Sure.”   
 _Sit on your hands or you’ll cheat,_ Erik warned him.   
 _I would never be so tempted! You have such little faith in my morals_ Charles protested, but Erik saw him sit on one hand, as if to stop it slyly creeping up to his temple to read Zoe’s tactics.   
Zoe beat him in seven minutes, cutting through Charles’ pretty defences like they  were no more than words. 

Charles borrowed the knife off Erik, and carved in _Charles X_ on the board. Zoe smiled then.   
“You leaving me a kiss? That’s something I ain’t never seen before.”  
“No, no no” Charles stammered, and now Erik was the one laughing, “I’m Charles Xavier you see, the ‘x’ is for Xavier.”   
“Of course it is,” Zoe said, packing up the pieces. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow when you check out.”  
Erik had not been called ‘boy’ by anyone in years, but he could not find anger in him at the phrase. She had just magnificently slaughtered them at chess after all.

 

\- 

“But Erik-”  
“Charles, you said it yourself, she's not a mutant. Just an average human.”   
“But we need support from normal people too- oh don't be daft Erik,” Charles said, because Erik had bristled at the implication that they were _not normal_ ,   
“-and Zoe is exactly the kind of person we need on our side, intelligent, taking no-nonsense, already striving for equality-”  
“You sound like you’re smitten,” Erik said dryly, throwing his suitcase into the back of the car.   
“I am _not_ smitten Erik, I just think that-”  
“Is that all it takes to make you fall in love with someone? They just have to beat you at chess?”   
“Don’t be daft Erik, you’ve beaten me at chess plenty of times and I’m not in love with you.”   
“No,” Erik said, his hands gripping the steering wheel, “I suppose you’re not.” 

Charles continued to talk about _the importance of having non-mutants on our side,_ and how _fostering trust is crucial to improving relations,_ and _Erik are you even listening seriously you are infuriating at times_ but Erik heard none of it. He thought of Shaw, and how the vilest, most brutal people were gifted with mutations, and then how there were people like Zoe who almost _deserved_ a mutation but were genetically unremarkable. But that was the way it was, although Erik could hurl this car off a cliff and keep himself and Charles safe, he couldn’t control everything. Sometimes the most remarkable people lead unremarkable lives, even if they were objectively pretty and had a scarred chess board with two more names on it now.  
 _We can’t take everyone_ he thought to Charles, softer than before, words that he’d be embarrassed to say aloud. _I am sorry.  
_ _No need. Just this once, you’re probably right my friend. Just don’t let it get to your head._

Erik loosened his grip on the wheel at those words. They had a couple of hundred more miles to go, and although Charles was focused on looking for mutants, Erik had a new mission of his own now; getting his hands on a goddamn chess board. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
